


Rory

by poetfaery



Series: Kiss Of Frost [1]
Category: Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Autumn meets Jack and Pitch, Confusion, First story, Friendship, Gen, Kind of fluffy, Memory Loss, Original canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-22
Updated: 2013-06-22
Packaged: 2017-12-08 01:20:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/755311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poetfaery/pseuds/poetfaery
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The last of the season spirits has been chosen; Autumn. She, too, has no memories, but is extremely fond of animals. And, it seems, Pitch.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rory

**Author's Note:**

> My friend and I have created a post-movie canon where there are three other seasonal spirits, each created a hundred years after the last, the final one being Autumn.  
> One of her powers is talking to animals and they all basically love her, which shows.  
> Also, the nightmare wolves are from the RotG game; I like them a lot more than the horses. (Really, Pitch? Ponies?)  
> I've recently revised this work, let me know how you find it!

        The first thing I remember is waking up, curled into the warm hollow of a huge tree trunk. Then came the confusion- and the sudden thrill of connection. Though I couldn’t remember anything- who I was, how I had gotten there- each plant and animal seemed as much a part of me as my heartbeat. A bird chirruped above and I uncurled myself from my haven in curiosity. An eastern wind caressed my cheek in greeting, and I somehow felt, despite my circumstances, strong and at peace. From high above, the bird called out again. My lips curled into a smile as I tilted my head back and studied the vivid green of the sun-flooded canopy. In my thoughts, I called out to the little bird, and the words trilled out in birdsong on my tongue. There was a moment of stillness, then the bird dove in a graceful arc from the high boughs, circling to land on my outstretched palm. As soon as I set eyes on the creature, I knew it; its name, its species, and deeper: its fears, its worries, its favorite things. Though I had a moment ago known nothing, I now knew the heart of a sparrow. Awed, I stroked its small head with one finger. The little creature gave what could only be described as a sigh and leaned into my touch. A smile spread across my face once more and my heart leaped. How strange. And yet, how wonderful.

        A sudden rustle came from the bushes to my left. The sparrow sent me a rushed chirp of farewell before winging back into the canopy. Again the rustle sounded, louder than before. I turned towards the bushes, only to fall beneath the great black paws of a snarling wolf.

        I pushed myself up onto my elbows, catching my breath as it circled me. Somehow, I still felt no fear, nothing except for excitement and intense curiosity. The creature was odd- rather than fur and bone, it seemed to be made of… sand? Yes,  _living_  black sand with fierce gold eyes. Eyes that narrowed in hunger as the wolf stalked closer. I sat up slowly, as gentle with the feral predator as I had been with the sparrow. Bracing myself with one hand, I reached out with the other, gazing straight into its feral eyes. “Come here.”

        All at once, the fury left his eyes and he began to pad closer, hesitantly, as if afraid or uncertain. When he came within my reach, I spread my hand, lifting it to the his head. He stood utterly still as I scratched him behind the ears, then nearly melted into my hand as I began scratching his chin. The golden eyes that had been so hungry only moments before were now soft and happy. His long tail began to stir back and forth and a black tongue lolled out of his mouth.

        I rolled onto my knees and pet him more vigorously. “Good boy.” I stood, and he sat at my feet. Some distant and long-buried sentiment stirred in my chest, and I blinked at the wolf. “Rory." I looked down at him- not far, because either he was quite large, or I was quite small. “Rory,” I repeated. His intelligent gaze met mine and he wagged his tail, accepting the name immediately.

        “Come on, Rory,” I said, glancing back at the tree with a hint of uneasiness. “Let’s explore. Where did you come from?”

        Rory’s ears lifted and he started to trot off, then turned to make sure I was following. Casting my tree one final look, I strode to his side, resting one hand on the enormous scruff of his neck as we walked.

        As we picked our way through the forest, I realized I wasn’t wearing any shoes. People wore shoes, didn’t they? My awareness of nature- of the twisting, carefree minds of the plants and the bright scurryings of the animals - had been so vast that I hadn’t even though of my own appearance. My mind reeled dizzyingly back into a singular form, and I felt for the first time the brush of clothing against my fair skin. A lacy red dress fluttered around my knees, over black calf-length leggings. Draped around my neck was a soft, gauzy scarf in a million gorgeous shades of blue and green.

        No memory existed of picking out these clothes; nothing existed for me except this forest, and the last ten minutes of my life. I tugged on a lock of hair as I thought, then froze as it caught the light; my hair shone like fire: red, orange and copper strands glinting in the midday sun. All at once, the my heart sank and and my stomach fluttered with dark swirls of emotion. Apparently I knew nothing at all about myself.

        At my side, Rory whined and licked my fingers with a sand-rough tongue. Drifting from my melancholy with a slow blink, I smiled at the wolf, who gazed ahead with perked ears. Giving him a nod, I gripped his dark scruff once more and we set off at a brisk trot.

        Not long after, a huge clearing opened up in front of us. No, not a clearing. A battlefield. The right side laid enveloped in ice and snow, though a warm wind still rustled the leaves. The other side- I could only stare, tensed with shock-  roiled with shadows. A boy with white hair, a crooked staff, and skin paler than mine stood firm in the middle of the ice, glaring at a figure on the other side. The other man was clothed entirely in black, a shadowy mist perpetually rolling off the edges of his cloak. His skin was grey, but the darkness hid his eyes from sight. As I watched, unnoticed by the fighters, the man flung one hand outward. A legion of golden-eyed shadow wolves solidified from the misty darkness and leapt towards the boy. He narrowed his eyes- blue, I now noticed, like a winter sky- and swung his staff in a quick half-circle. The wolves were blasted into wild sprays of black sand as a torrent of ice and snow raced from the staff. The man in black looked as though he were preparing to summon another wave, when all of a sudden Rory barked.

        The effect was almost comical. Both men froze and turned to look at us with dumbfounded expressions. I was pinned by two pairs of eyes, one crystal blue, and the other- which I could now see all too well- an eclipse of silvery grey on deep gold. The blue-eyed boy took a cautious step forward, holding up the hand not clutching the staff in a calming motion. “Miss, step away from the nightmare slowly.”

        I cocked my head, much like Rory was now doing. “Nightmare?... D’you mean Rory? Rory wouldn’t hurt me!”

        His eyes widened in confusion, and he opened his mouth to say something else. Before he could though, the golden-eyed man spoke. “Rory? You named my beautiful nightmare  _Rory_?” His voice was soft as silk and rich as velvet, but low and dangerous all the same. 

        I glared at him defensively, scratching Rory behind the ear as I did so. “What’s wrong with ‘Rory’? I think it suits him.” Rory licked my hand in agreement, and I flashed him a fond smile.

        Now both of them were staring at me, both wearing that inane dumbfounded expression. “Who…  _are_  you?” the boy said.

        I blinked at him before barking out a short laugh. “Good question. Your guess is as good as mine.”

        The man in black raised an eyebrow and glanced across at the boy. “A new one?...” he murmured. He brushed himself off and strode towards me, causing the boy to tighten his grip on the staff. Without turning, the man snapped, “I’m not going to hurt her, you silly boy. She intrigues me.” He stooped down to place a hand on the side of my face, an apologetic expression touching his shining eyes.  “This may actually hurt a bit, my dear.” Before I could react, the nightmare had already drowned me in darkness.

       

        I must have fainted, for when I opened my eyes again I lay on the ground. The man in black hadn’t moved; he looked down on me and then around the clearing, a thoughtful expression playing across his face. “Interesting,” he said, eyes glittering. “Her power is as explosive as yours, Frost.”

        My eyes must have asked the question for me, because he moved away, letting me see the clearing. “Oh,” I breathed. The trees which had been before clothed in summer’s green now hosted a glorious array of colors, exploding with brilliant reds, oranges and yellows. Half of the boy’s ice patch had begun to melt, and Pitch’s shadows now curled like wreaths around piles of fallen leaves.

        The boy called Frost leaned on his staff and looked around, too, just as awed. “Of course. We might have known from her coloring, huh?” He gazed at me, smiling crookedly, as I rose. “You’re the spirit of autumn.”

 

        I stared back at him, my calm slipping a little. “Autumn…?” Had  _I_  done this?  _How_ …? “What does that mean? Who are you two?” Sensing my growing unease, Rory brushed comfortingly against my leg.

        “Jack. Jack Frost.” The boy smiled at me again. “Guardian of Winter and Joy.” He winked, then turned his gaze on the man next to me, eyes darkening. “ _That_  is Pitch. The Boogeyman.”

        Pitch glared at Jack and offered me his hand. “Pitch Black. At your service.”

        Jack growled and lifted his staff with a smooth movement. “Don’t touch her again, Pitch.”

        I stared up into Pitch’s gold eyes. There was malice and anger there, yes, but also… sadness. Heartbreak. Loneliness. I placed my hand in his and he brought it to his lips, all the while searching my eyes, asking a silent question that I didn’t know how to answer.

        “I can bring you to see the Guardians,” Jack interrupted. “You can find out who you are.”

        My gaze darted to his, my heart jumping, and my hand fell from Pitch’s. As I moved closer to the Guardian of Winter, a low growl sounded from behind me and all of a sudden I couldn’t see anything at all. I cried out as cold battled dark once more and I became enveloped in freezing cold wind. A light appeared and I moved towards it, tumbling from the air into a pile of leaves that cushioned the clearing floor. As I left Pitch’s darkness, I could see Jack, barraging Pitch with darts and sprays of punishing ice. Scrambling to my feet, I moved next to Jack, placing a hand on the arm holding the staff. “Jack,” I murmured, casting a concerned glance at Pitch, who was flinching behind his barrier of shadow. “Stop.”

        Jack turned to face me, blue eyes startled. “But he just-!”

        I met his eyes with renewed confidence. “I know. But this is not your fight."

        Jack hesitated, a host of emotions playing across his face, then nodded. He turned, began to walk out of the clearing, and then stopped, waiting for me.

        I turned to look at Pitch. Since Jack’s cease-fire, he had stopped flinching, had stopped… doing anything, really. He just stood there, head hung, glaring daggers at Jack. I stepped closer to him, and he turned that fierce golden gaze on me. “What?” he spat, voice rough. “Go off with your boyfriend, and meet the rest of the Guardians. Hate me like they do.”

        “I don’t hate you.”

        His head lifted and I saw again the sadness I had glimpsed before. The pain. The loneliness. The defeat. My heart panged. With a thought, I called to the east wind, gusting along until I tumbled to a halt in front of him. On tiptoe, I wrapped my arms around him, and whispered, “I could be your friend, Pitch.”

He froze for a long moment, then growled, shadows beginning to swirl around him once more. “I don’t  _have_  friends, Autumn.”

A finger of wind boosted me up to kiss him on the cheek, then I sighed and called the wind once more, breezing back across the clearing. Rory gave me a final lick, and then I sent him back to Pitch, along with a soft wind carrying a message: “Now you have two.” 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know how you liked it! I finished the sequel, "Fireworks," and you can always check out "Apples Are Good For The Soul," which is a bit of Autumn/Pitch broship fluff. Thanks for reading!


End file.
